


Jackpot

by DarcyDelaney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 14:06:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8211229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarcyDelaney/pseuds/DarcyDelaney
Summary: Dean’s been entering the lottery for Hamilton tickets every day for the better part of three months, and the results are always the same--he treks to West 46th Street, enters his name into the mix, and inevitably leaves disappointed. Today, though, he meets a fellow hopeful, blue-eyed fan who just might make waiting in line worth it, whether he wins the lottery or not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, there's literally no excuse for this except for the fact that I love Dean and Cas, and I love Hamilton, so here we go!
> 
> Two little disclaimers:  
> -I've never won the Hamilton lottery, so I'm just guessing that this is how it goes based on what I've seen happen around the theatre during lottery time.  
> -Heads up for anyone who's planning on seeing the show, Hamilton spoilers abound in this fic.

Dean _hates_ Sam for this.

If Sam hadn’t brought that stupid CD home, if he’d been able to do anything but rave about how amazing it was, if he hadn’t bought tickets for Jess for their anniversary and then claimed that it was even better in person and that Dean just needed to “give it a shot,” if he hadn’t caught Dean listening to the album in the garage, pathetically trying to rap his way through ‘Guns and Ships’ while changing the oil in the Impala and then forced Dean to admit that he liked the thing, then Dean wouldn’t be schlepping his way through throngs of people in Times Square on his lunch hour for the fifth time this week.

After dodging two Elmos, a deranged-looking Minnie Mouse, and a terrifying Statue of Liberty on stilts, Dean catches his first glimpse of the Richard Rodgers Theatre, and the familiar scene of the _Hamilton_ marquee, and the even more familiar mass of people crammed outside the theatre. He takes a deep breath--there are some days where he’s more prepared to handle the crowds and excitement than others, and today is one of those less-than-prepared days--and makes a beeline for the person in charge of the lottery.

Dean scribbles his name onto the slip of paper and hands it to the guy in charge today, an overly excited twenty-something with thick-framed glasses and a skinny tie who looks like he’s been plucked straight out of his Brooklyn brownstone.

He takes a breath as he turns around and prepares to reenter the sea of people who have taken over West 46th Street, all of whom are undoubtedly experiencing the same weird mix of emotions he is--equal parts anxious and excited and slightly nauseous. The show’s star, Lin-Manuel Miranda, will be out in the next few minutes for today’s HAM4HAM show, a little skit he puts together with the cast, crew, or random special guests as a thank-you to everyone for entering the lottery, and people aren’t budging, even though Dean is trying to get to the _back_ of the crowd, not the front.

It fucking _sucks_.

He can feel his stomach tense up with anxiety as the beginnings of claustrophobia start to set in, and for a second, he wonders why he even does this anymore. Sure, his optimism was high when he first started entering, but with every disappointed afternoon, his positive outlook got dimmer and dimmer. The odds of him getting picked over hundreds of other people are about the same as Katniss Everdeen’s sister’s were to participate in the Hunger Games, except somehow, _she_ got picked on the first goddamn try.

Dean wonders if maybe he should get Sam to enter, instead, then he’d win and Dean could volunteer to take his place.

His stomach grumbles loudly, a reminder that he’s skipping lunch to stand in the crowd, and Dean’s tempted to ditch the lottery for today and find a quick meal when he feels himself run into someone.

“ _Shit_ ,” he breathes, watching as the man he ran into looks up. He looks at Dean with startled blue eyes, and Dean feels like he’s just gotten the wind knocked out of him. He looks the guy up and down as discreetly as possible--which is, not very discreetly at all--mussed dark hair, a wrinkled burgundy pullover sweater, and dark, worn-out jeans, and, well, color Dean impressed.

Disheveled or not, this guy is _cute_ , and Dean can feel his cheeks flushing red.

The guy’s holding a tattered old paperback in one hand, and quickly scrambles to dog-ear a page before closing it. “Sorry,” he says, glancing up at Dean for a second before looking back down and tucking the book into his messenger bag. “I wasn’t--I should’ve been paying better attention.”

Dean chuckles. “Don’t worry about it. Kind of impossible to avoid running into everyone around here, huh?”

He gives Dean an uncertain smile, and Dean raises his eyebrows, taking the lack of a further response as a sign that the dude’s not interested in continuing their conversation. _So much for that_. He’s about to resume his original plan of finding some food when he hears the guy’s voice next to him.

“Is this your first time trying?”

Dean can’t help it; he laughs out loud. “Nah. Try, oh, I dunno--fiftieth.”

The guy’s eyes widen, and Dean smirks. He shifts his weight a little, preparing himself to stay here for as long as Blue Eyes wants to. “Jesus,” he mutters. “And I thought I was bad.”

“What’re you at?”

“Less than fifty,” he answers, and flashes Dean a quick little smirk that sets Dean’s guts alight.

Dean grins back and sticks out his hand--or at least, sticks it out as far as it’ll go in their current cramped quarters. “Dean,” he says, “ _Hamilton_ lottery hopeful.”

“Cas,” Blue Eyes says, shaking Dean’s hand. “And same.”

Dean laughs and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “How’d you get sucked into this whirlwind?”

Cas pauses, and Dean tries not to notice how Cas had stiffened slightly at the question. “Uh, my ex, actually.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

Cas nods, craning his neck to look up at the steps in front of the theatre. “He brought the CD to my apartment one day, insisting that I listen to it.” He shrugs. “And the rest, appropriately enough, is history.”

Dean nods. He tries to look sympathetic, since that’s how he _thinks_ he should look, but he’s still fixated on the fact that Cas is single, and that he _could_ , potentially, be interested in Dean.

“I love the show,” Cas says, “it’s incredible, but whenever I listen to it, I always sort of think of him, you know?”

Dean shakes his head quickly, pulling himself back into reality. “Yeah,” he says with a wince, “that sucks. ‘S like he ruined it for you.”

Cas shrugs. “I guess. But I just have to make some new memories around it, and what better way than seeing the show for myself? He never saw it,” he says with a satisfied little glint in his eye that, well, fuck, turns Dean on more than he’d like to admit. He glances at Dean. “What about you?”

“Brother,” Dean says simply. “He kept wanting me to listen to it, I kept brushing it off, then I finally humored him one night and heard that goddamn ‘Yorktown’ song and,” he snaps his fingers, “that was that.”

“Ugh, ‘Yorktown’ is in _credible_ ,” Cas says, resting a hand on his heart and closing his eyes when he says it. “Definitely one of my favorites.”

Dean nods. “And the way you can hear its melody in the background of ‘Hurricane’? Fuck that shit, man, honestly. It’s insane.”

“I _know_! The heartbeat that peters out as Philip dies during ‘Stay Alive’--the reprise--is what really kills me, though. I can make it through most of the show without getting too emotional, but that…” Cas shakes his head.

“My brother’s seen the show already, he said he and his girlfriend were tearing up then, and both sobbing by ‘Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story’. So, I mean, I guess we have some warning going in.” Dean shakes his head in disbelief, a small grin on his face. “Never thought I’d get _this_ into a Broadway show, man. I mean, really. This thing is all I listen to. It’s becoming a problem.”

Cas grins at him, but before he can say anything else, the crowds around them erupt in cheers and screams. Dean looks up and cranes his neck to see Lin standing on the steps in front of the Rodgers, waving frantically with a microphone in hand, trying to get everyone’s attention. He says something into the mic that makes everyone laugh, but Dean and Cas are too far back to hear anything but static and muffled words. He’s got a decent view if he peeks over the shoulder of the goddamn giant in front of him (and as long as the blonde in front of Gigantor doesn’t shift at all), and folds his arms over his chest, ready to see what Lin’s got in store for them today.

Which is why he’s not at all ready when he feels Cas edge closer to him and bring his mouth close to his ear. “So I guess that makes you the trash of the thing,” he says, slow and loud to make sure Dean can hear him over the cheering now that Lin’s special guest has come out to stand next to him.

Dean chuckles and leans in close, too. “Guess so.”

They watch the HAM4HAM show, Dean bouncing on the balls of his feet to try and get out the nervous energy that’s suddenly taken over. He’s not sure if it has to do more with the fact that yet another lottery is fast approaching, or that he’s got the best-looking dude on West 46th Street next to him, but either way, he tries to keep his cool.

Lin finishes the performance, wishes them all luck, and ducks back into the theatre, leaving the crew to begin the lottery. A tense silence washes over the crowd as they wait to hear the first name. Dean worries his lower lip and shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, trying--and probably failing--to stay casual.

“Emily Abato!” the dude calls, and it only takes a second before a girl somewhere in the crowd shrieks with excitement. The crowd starts to cheer as they part for her to get up to the front. She’s holding two fingers up in the air with one hand to signal that she wants two tickets, dragging her boyfriend behind her with the other. They line up on the steps where HAM4HAM just took place, both of them beaming at the crowd and hugging each other.

A couple more names are called, a couple more people are thrilled and join the line on the steps, and with every passing winner, Dean feels his hope diminishing more and more. He sighs and closes his eyes, trying to force himself to not be disappointed. The chances of him winning are miniscule at best, and it’s just another one of those days, maybe he’ll get lucky when he tries for the hundredth time as opposed to the fiftieth, maybe--

“And now we’ve got...Dean Winchester!”

Dean starts at that and looks around, his heart leaping up to his throat. He can feel Cas’ eyes on him--he knows his name is Dean, but not that he’s _the_ Dean, one of today’s chosen ones.

“Dean Winchester, you here?”

After a few more stunned seconds, Dean throws his arm up into the air. “Yeah! Holy shit, yeah!” he shouts, and the crowd around him erupts in cheers. Cas smiles warmly at him, but Dean can tell the guy is still antsy over whether or not he’ll get picked, too.

“Congratulations, Dean,” he says softly, and before Dean can think about it, he grabs Cas’ hand and pulls him forward, waving two fingers up in the air.

“Two tickets for Dean Winchester, and next up we have...Brittany--”

The man’s voice fades away as Dean pulls Cas onto the steps of the theatre next to the other winners so far. They welcome them excitedly, and Dean notices that the first winner of the day is still hugging her boyfriend, trying to compose herself. He grins and turns to Cas, who’s staring at him like he just grew a second head.

Well, Dean _had_ been expecting a hug or something, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“You okay, Cas?” he asks.

Cas continues to stare at him for a few seconds, mouth agape, before he shakes his head quickly and gives Dean a bewildered little smile that makes Dean’s heart beat just that much faster. “You won,” he says.

“I did,” Dean says, letting it sink in for a minute, because he finally fucking did it. After nearly three months of constant entering, _he won those goddamn tickets_ , and he wasn’t expecting to feel as...elated as he does now. His gut is warm with an excitement that he hasn’t felt in years, probably since he first got the job at the comic shop, and before he can do anything about it, he feels the corners of his mouth lift up in a grin.

And to think he was gonna skip this in favor of lunch.

“Fucking crazy, man.”

Cas laughs, but nods in agreement. “Want to know something even crazier?”

“What’s that?”

“Taking someone you just met fifteen minutes ago to the show with you.”

Dean pauses for a second, tilting his head to the side as he replays Cas’ words in his head. Finally, he shrugs; Cas does have a point, even if he’s heard of lots of people making deals with those they’ve met in line that if one of them wins, the other will get the second ticket. “I guess you’re right,” he says, making slow, exaggerated movements toward the person calling out winners’ names. “I’ll just go tell him that I actually only need one ticke--”

Cas’ eyes go wide at that, and he steps awkwardly in front of Dean’s path, taking care to stay balanced on the thin concrete steps. “Uh, let’s not make any rash decisions,” Cas says, letting out the most pathetic attempt at a casual laugh that Dean’s ever heard, which only makes him more endearing. Dean grins and looks at Cas knowingly. “I just...you don’t have anyone else you’d rather take to the show?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “Brother’s already seen it, friends don’t give a shit. You said it yourself, you need to make some new _Hamilton_ memories. So, what d’you say, Cas? You in or you out?”

He doesn’t have to wait long before Cas gives him a small but delighted smile. “In,” he says. “One hundred percent in.”

* * *

 

“Excuse me,” an impatient mother says, waving a comic book in front of Dean’s face. He starts, her voice jerking him back to reality, and shakes his head.

“Sorry, what was that?” he asks, giving her a forced, apologetic smile. Too bad _I’m sorry I’m distracted, but I’m seeing fucking_ Hamilton _tonight with a goddamn adonis_ isn’t a good excuse for daydreaming during the rest of his work day.

She glares at him, then holds the book in front of his face. “Will this be good for her?” she asks, gesturing toward a little girl next to her, presumably her daughter, who can’t be more than ten years old.

It’s a copy of the latest issue of _Saga_ one of the most mature books on the shelves these days, and it takes all of Dean’s self-control not to burst out laughing. Instead, he hurriedly shakes his head and puts the comic back on the rack. “That’s, uh, a little too mature for a kid her age,” he says, motioning for them to follow him to the all-ages books. He grabs the first volume of _Lumberjanes_ instead, and crouches down so he’s closer to the girl’s height.

“What’s that?” her mother asks, a little too suspiciously for Dean’s liking.

“Your new favorite comic,” he tells the girl, who looks at him hesitantly. “This has it all,” he says, rapping on the cover with his knuckles. “There’s mysteries and friendship and funny stuff and adventures…” He trails off when he notices that the girl doesn’t seem very impressed, then remembers another part of the story. “And three-eyed foxes,” he adds, and damn if _that_ doesn’t get her attention. The girl gasps in delight and grabs the book from him, already flipping through it as she and her mom head to the register to pay.

Dean straightens and watches as they leave, but he can’t help checking his phone again to check the time. Ever since he got back from lunch with his plans that night set in stone, he’d been having trouble concentrating on anything _but_ the show, and, by extension, Cas. They’d traded numbers to find each other that night, and Dean feels a warmth spreading in his gut at the idea of seeing him again so soon.

He grins to himself as he unconsciously pulls out his phone and sneaks a quick glance at its screen. There’s a notification for an unread text, and Dean can feel his cheeks flush when he sees that it’s from Cas.

_Thank you again, Dean. I’m looking forward to tonight._

Dean stares at the message and grins down at the phone before unlocking it and punching in a quick, _me too, see you then_. He shoves the phone back into his pocket before he can get caught texting on the job, and cranes his neck to catch the eye of Charlie, his favorite co-worker, up at the register.

“Wanna throw _Hamilton_ on again?” he asks sweetly.

Charlie rolls her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you, Winchester.”

Dean flashes her an overly sweet smile and rests his chin on his hands like he’s posing for a cheesy senior portrait. “You’re the best, Bradbury.” She scoffs and flips him off.

Dean laughs and goes back to reorganizing the week’s new releases.

_Three hours and twenty-seven minutes to go._

* * *

 

This theatre is fucking _gorgeous_.

It’s not like Dean has many--read: _any_ \--theatres to compare it to, but even if he did, he’s sure he’d still think the Rodgers is pretty great. As they file inside, Dean almost misses the woman handing out programs; Cas has to grab the sleeve of his jacket and pull him back to get his attention off of the architecture and intricate mouldings and draping fabrics. He feels like he’s been dropped square in the middle of a Victorian painting, as well as self-conscious and underdressed. He glances around before zipping his jacket up over his Lying Cat T-shirt as subtly as possible while he and Cas walk further, further, further until they get to the left-hand side of the front row.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Dean breathes as they take their seats, staring up at the stage. For all the grandeur and glamour of the theatre, the stage itself is pretty sparse; a simple, two-story wooden walkway lines the sides and back, with a couple of ladders strategically positioned around it, presumably in order for the actors to get up to the second story.

He glances over at Cas, who’s holding his playbill up with one hand and taking a picture of it with the stage in the background with the other. The rest of their fellow winners file in slowly, offering them more smiles and high fives and congratulations as they pass, like they’re all part of some exclusive club, which, Dean guesses, they kind of are.

Dean opens his playbill and checks out the list of who’ll be appearing at their show, and shakes his head incredulously. He never really thought he’d have this thing in his hands, and the fact that he does makes him feel like he’s living in some alternate reality where he actually has _good_ luck.

“This…” Cas says slowly, “is not exactly how I thought I’d be spending my Friday night.” He’s got his playbill open on his lap now, and is flipping through the pages slowly, reverently, like he can’t believe it’s in his hands, either. He looks over at Dean and smiles at him, and Dean can’t help but grin back.

“Hope it’s better than your original plans,” he says.

Cas scoffs. “I love my cat, but marathoning _Jessica Jones_ with him while eating pizza takes a backseat to this.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and is about to start spouting off his excitement over _Jessica Jones_ and suggest that they discuss fan theories during intermission when the theatre lights start to fade, and everyone begins cheering and clapping again. Cas gives him one last glance and mouths a quick, “Thank you” before the entire theatre goes dark.

Dean’s blushing; he’s glad no one else can see it.

* * *

 

Dean doesn’t know where to look.

Everything about the show, from the singing to the choreography to the lighting to the fact that the middle of the stage fucking _rotates_ , keeps Dean’s eyes glued ahead of him as he desperately tries to soak in every single part of the musical. Hell, he doesn’t even look over at Cas once during the first act for fear of missing even the smallest moment, and that’s saying something.

By intermission, he feels like he’s just gotten off a particularly exhilarating roller coaster--all he wants to do is keep going. The energy coursing through him is manifesting itself in his leg shaking, his fingers tapping out a beat on his playbill. He doesn’t remember it happening, but he’s got a giant smile plastered across his face, and when he finally catches a glimpse at Cas, he realizes that he’s got the same.

And Cas looks _really_ good with a smile on his face.

Not just a little grin or a smirk like Dean saw outside the Rodgers; no, he’s looking at someone who’s happy, delighted, goddamn _elated_ , who looks like he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. His eyes are bright, cheeks flush with excitement, and Dean laughs, trying to hide the fact that he could feel his smile getting wider as he looked at him.

“I…” Cas tries to think up a coherent sentence, but gives up after a few seconds. “Wow.”

Dean shakes his head. “I expected it to be good, better than the album, but It’s even better than _that_.”

“Do you think if we just sit here, they’ll cut the intermission short and we can get back to the show?” Cas asks, and Dean laughs.

“Be patient, buddy.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but nods anyway. Dean purses his lips together, wondering if he could get away with a tiny amount of contact, then decides to take the plunge. He leans over and nudges Cas gently with his shoulder--it’s barely even a nudge; but Cas makes Dean hyper-aware of, well, everything--and grins. “Intermission’ll be over before you know it.”

* * *

 

Act II slows down considerably from the adrenaline rush that was Act I, but Dean still finds himself hanging on the cast’s every word and movement. The one song that trips him up, though, is “One Last Time.”

He likes that song; he likes it a lot, but he never thought he’d be getting _emotional_ over it. Sure, Washington deciding to step down and not run for president again is a bummer, but Chris Jackson makes Dean feel like he’s losing a best friend with the way he sings it.

Dean is enraptured with the way Chris pours his entire heart into the thing, like this is the last time--ha, _one last time_ \--he’ll be singing it, instead of acting like he’ll be performing at every show for the foreseeable future. He holds that last note for so long, Dean’s concerned that he’ll pass out from lack of oxygen, and the whole theatre erupts, Dean included, before he’s even done singing. He’s tempted to whistle, but doesn’t exactly know how well that’d go over in a theatre crowd, so he just opts to clap extra loud instead.

He finds it weird, though, that he doesn’t hear Cas clapping.

Instead, he hears him sniffle.

When Dean turns to look over at him, he has to work hard to make sure that his jaw doesn’t drop open. A look of pure admiration and awe on his face, Cas is staring up at the stage, at Chris, who’s still standing there proudly in the spotlight, shoulders heaving. Cas’ hands are tented in front of his mouth and nose, but Dean isn’t surprised when he sees Cas quickly palm away a couple of tears.

On impulse, Dean digs into his jeans pocket and pulls out a travel-size pack of tissues. He opens them as quietly as possible, pulls one out, and nudges Cas, who stiffens immediately, apparently unaware until that very moment that someone is sitting next to him. He glances at Dean with wide, apologetic eyes that are still wet with tears, and Dean shoves the tissue into his hand.

Cas looks down at it, then back up at Dean, a bemused expression on his face, and Dean gives him a quick little wink and a crooked, knowing smile.

They settle in for the next few numbers, and Dean feels a small ball of anxiety start to form in the pit of his stomach as “Blow Us All Away” starts. He knows how this ends, how sad it is, the idea of a family being torn apart even more, this time by death, and he knows that sometimes he can’t even listen to the next three songs on the album because they just bum him out so goddamn much, but there’s no going back now. He prepares himself to see Philip get shot and killed after following shitty dueling advice from Alexander, but what he’s not expecting is to be so surprised by how loud the gunshot is during the duel. He jumps a little in his seat, startled, but is even more startled when he feels a hand grab his the second the prop gun goes off.

When he looks over, Cas has his hand clamped over Dean’s, and he’s looking up at the stage in surprise at the gunshot noise, too, almost as if he doesn’t even notice that their hands are touching. Dean glances up at the stage quickly, then back at Cas, and realizes that no, Cas really has _no idea_.

By instinct, Dean is about to pull his hand out from under Cas’ when he decides that, no, he actually _does_ like the warmth of Cas’ hand on his. He stays still and focuses on the show, but a few seconds later, Cas’ actions finally seem to catch up with him, and he looks down at their hands in surprise. He looks like he’s about to pull his hand away and apologize, so Dean gives him a small smile, hoping it says what he wants it to--that it’s fine, that he doesn’t mind this, but if Cas does, he can take his hand away.

Cas keeps his hand on Dean’s until he needs to use it to wipe away more tears during “It’s Quiet Uptown.”

* * *

 

By the end of the show, Dean’s glad that he took Sam’s advice and brought tissues with him.

He and Cas are on their feet, clapping and cheering as the cast members take their bows onstage, and as much as he tries to blink back those stupid goddamn tears, a couple still manage to sneak out and down his cheeks. He can feel himself shaking his head slowly in disbelief, taking a quick break from clapping to wipe away a rogue tear with the palm of his hand.

They clap until their hands are sore, and when the house lights come back up, Cas looks just as stunned as Dean feels.

“That was…” Cas’ voice trails off, and Dean decides to pick up the slack.

“Holy fuck.”

Cas laughs faintly. “Exactly. I just--wow.” He runs his fingers through his already-disheveled hair, then focuses on Dean. “Thank you, Dean,” he continues, his voice soft and sincere. “Thank you so much.”

Dean shrugs, trying to play it off as nothing, just a favor. “‘Course, man.” He chuckles. “Does this fix those shitty memories from your ex, then?”

Cas pauses, then laughs in disbelief, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that Dean didn’t realize that he really, _really_ likes. “Is that even a question?” He shakes his head. “This was incredible. I don’t--” he shakes his head, “--I don’t really even think I have the words right now.”

Dean grins at him. “Just wanted to make sure.”

They stand there awkwardly, and Dean’s heart is picking up the pace with every passing second as he tries to push past the sea of self-doubts he’s got about how tonight went. He usually never has to deal with this, he’s cool and confident before asking people out, but something’s different with Cas. Dean wants to impress him, to make sure that he hadn’t just misread the past few hours. In an attempt to convince himself that he’s not making this shit up, he reminds himself of everything that happened tonight, of the smiles and hand-holding--okay, not _really_ , but he’s counting it as goddamn hand-holding, so sue him--and opens his mouth before he can second-guess himself anymore.

“Hey, uh, you gotta head right back to hang out with your cat tonight, or no?” Dean asks, and almost immediately wants to smack himself in the face. _What the_ fuck _was that, you idiot?_

Cas gives him a surprised--and slightly confused--little smile, and Dean can feel that stupid blush rising up his neck again. “Snickers can wait,” he says slowly. “Why?”

“I, uh,” Dean falters, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “I was just wondering if you wanted to grab some food or something. I mean, it’s not fair of me to send you out into the world without having the chance to talk more about that goddamn show, right?”

Cas pauses, and pretends to think it over. Cas is an awful pretender; Dean can _tell_ that he wants to say yes, but he’s still a bundle of nerves nevertheless, and will be until an affirmation comes out of Cas’ mouth.

Finally, Cas nods. “We _do_ have a lot of feelings to go over,” he says, “and there’s no one else I can talk to about it, right?”

Dean grins. “Exactly. So, pizza?”

“Obviously.”

Dean grins and takes a few steps out of their row of seats, holding his hand out for Cas to lead the way. Cas nods and starts leading them back out into the real world.

“So,” he says, turning back to look at Dean, “what was your favorite part?”

Dean lets out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair as he tries to narrow it down. “Ask me in five minutes,” he says, “because I’m just gonna say ‘all of it’ right now.”

Cas laughs, and before Dean realizes it, Cas is reaching back and entwining his fingers with Dean’s. Dean’s heart flips at that, and he looks down, then up at Cas, who’s looking at him hopefully, hesitantly, wondering if he’s taken this a step too far.

Dean squeezes his hand, and that’s all the reassurance Cas seems to need.

As they leave the theatre, Dean feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out with his free hand and sees a new text from Sam:

_Hey, what’re you doing tonight?_

Dean pauses for a few seconds, letting the glow of his phone illuminate his face as he thinks about how to reply that he just saw the greatest show of his life--goddamn it, fuck Sammy for being right--and is now about to go out to eat with the best guy he’s met in a while. FInally, he decides to keep it short and sweet.

_not throwing away my shot, sammy_


End file.
